Here. On this bench. A slight stretch and my arm would encircle The woman I have seen so much in my daydreams. But she would still be two overcoats and four shirts away. I see the proud, gentle curve of a nose which was once pressed Against my cheek. A half-inch of ankle between jeans and socks, And in this cold. The contact we had, months ago: How could it have happened only once? Does that overcoat insulate against the Hours of daydreams, the difficult nights? And those eyes which I brush with my gaze, As often as I feel I can, Why don't the daydreams fall in? Just two overcoats and four shirts, And yet so far. February 9, 1993